


Running Out Of Time

by WithACommaAfterDearest



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 19:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7326814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithACommaAfterDearest/pseuds/WithACommaAfterDearest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone's soulmate tattoos and how they feel about then.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running Out Of Time

Hey, guys! Sorry I haven’t updated recently. I’ve been crazy busy and unable to carve out any time for writing. I woke up at four to even get this done, and I actually have to go right about now, so hope you like this little snippet!

 

Eliza loves her soulmate tattoo.

It’s green and purple and wistful blue swirled into a hurricane so fierce and whirling so fast people forget etiquette and stare whenever her shirt slips and reveals it, which isn’t technically vulgar but still has a delicious taste of naughtiness to it.

She traces it sometimes, trying to make the tip of her finger spin as fast as the windblown rain, but her nail always slips off a few seconds in and her hands get sore after she tries for too long.

It settles against her collarbone, scratching at her neck and whispering tales of mermaids and coral reefs and wrecked ships into her ear. 

______________________________________________________________________________

Angelica hates her soulmate tattoo.

It’s a gold coin, but it doesn’t shine or sparkle, simply rests. Flat. Dull. Vaguely dirty. It doesn’t move like Eliza’s. It just… sits.

The worst part is where it is. The whole world knows her soulmate has no personality, no life, no anything. It’s an ugly circle pasted against her neck, and no matter how much powder she presses over it, she can never fully conceal the mocking oval that laughs and teases her whenever people wrinkle their noses or murmur I’m so glad my soulmate mark isn’t there or try to hide a gasp.

______________________________________________________________________________

Alexander is embarrassed of his soulmate tattoo.

It’s a baby carriage- pink and blue striped- curving over his hip. Sometimes a chubby baby fist emerges from the lacey blankets, or the wheels move back and forth. Sometimes it’s bold enough to travel around his stomach over his chest, and sometimes it just sits, absentmindedly creaking back and forth a little.

Everyone teases him. Babies aren’t “manly”. A soldier shouldn’t be worried about children, he should be concerned with his life. What kind of a woman is summed up by the children she gives and nothing else?

At least it isn’t conspicuous.

______________________________________________________________________________

Burr ignores his soulmate tattoo.

It’s so uninformative- just the word hello in elegant black script etched across his shoulder.

He meets a woman named Theodosia, who doesn’t ever say hello but introduces herself in the crinkle of her eyes when she smiles, the tilt of her lips when she smirks, the toss of her hair when she’s triumphant.

Her soulmate tattoo is a skulking tiger that wanders over her hips up her sides and over the curves of her breasts. Sometimes it lounges on her wrist. Occasionally it sidles up dangerously close to her cheek.

Burr is not a tiger. Theodosia is a not a hello. But neither care.

______________________________________________________________________________

Maria wishes for a soulmate tattoo.

She draws one on in lipstick sometimes when the ache gets to hurt too much. Nothing fancy- she’s hardly an artist- but it’s so easy to trace a ruby red heart onto her hand and pretend that she has a love, too.

Her heart doesn’t move, though. It smells like oil and cosmetic. And it’s too smudgy to last long.

It doesn’t fool her one-night stands, who look at her with pity when they figure it out and politely excuse themselves without leaving a phone number. 

Apparently, on the black market, there are people with machines who can inject ink into the skin and forge soulmate tattoos.

Maybe someday.

______________________________________________________________________________  
Phillip can’t understand his soulmate tattoo.

It’s a letter stretching across his entire chest. It starts in English, then switches to French, then Spanish, and the text gets smaller and smaller as available space to write becomes unavailable.

Sometimes large portions are rubbed out and rewritten.

Phillip wishes it was readable, but the handwriting is spidery and unintelligible and the print is so tiny he can’t even begin to try to decipher it.

His soulmate must be incredibly intelligent.

______________________________________________________________________________

Theodosia Jr. is terrified of her soulmate tattoo.

Her dad told her it’s the exact replica of a bullet wound inked on her ribs, half a bullet visible on her shoulder. It looks like the bullet traveled through her body and exploded from her back.

Whenever she bathes, she avoids the mirror religiously, trying to ignore the black hole and the shining, pointed bullet ripping through her. 

She half wishes she never finds her soulmate. She thinks she knows how it’ll end.

______________________________________________________________________________  
Mulligan is fascinated by his soulmate tattoo.

It’s never the same two days in a row- sometimes a peacock, sometimes the sun in glorious bursts of red and yellow and orange, sometimes a tree stretching from ankle to thigh.

Everyday he searches his body to find the new mark. Once it was a mouse the size of the nail on his little finger that scampered on his back.

Even the mouse was colored in shocking purple, though.

______________________________________________________________________________

Laurens doesn’t care about his soulmate tattoo. 

Slavery is all he can think about. Wives and children and domesticity can wait until he gets his job done.

He has a plan, a plan that doesn’t involve the girl who the songbird on his ankle represents.

Hamilton’s whooshes and gurgles. Mulligan’s caws or rustles or anything depending on what it happens to be that day.

But Laurens’ doesn’t make a sound.

______________________________________________________________________________

Lafayette is delighted by his soulmate tattoo.

It’s a set of clothing, but mismatched- a lady’s blouse paired with a man’s trousers and little slippered baby shoes. The hat shines, like a man’s, but is shaped like a sunbonnet.

He feels bad for the poor people who have such vague tattoos. They never know if they end up with the right people.

That must be torture.

______________________________________________________________________________

Madison figured out his soulmate tattoo a long time ago.

First it was the logo for the college William & Mary. Eventually it morphed into a French flag. What really sealed it, though, was the elegant script that spelled Kentucky and Virginia Resolutions- a document he and Jefferson had wrote anonymously.

He knew he should tell him, but…

What if Jefferson’s soulmate isn’t him? It’s happened before.

He’d be crushed.  
______________________________________________________________________________

Jefferson studies his soulmate tattoo constantly.

It’s black and inconspicuous, which he thanks whoever’s in charge of such things for. Not like poor Angelica’s- it would be terrible to have an ugly fist-sized blotch on one’s neck.

It’s only about the size of a quarter of his palm, and only ripples slightly, as if a wind caught it. Some people’s wander all over their body like hitchhikers. His apparently has more sense and decorum, luckily.

As he washes his hands, he catches glimpse of it in the mirror and stops to admire it. A black silk handkerchief. 

Funny, he saw one of those the other day. James Madison was…

Wait. A. Minute.


End file.
